Kissing the Scar
by LynstHolin
Summary: DRARRY   After being seriously injured in an incident with a dark wizard at the Ministry, Harry Potter has to take a desk job. The man who is training him in: Draco Malfoy. FLUFF


_Weee-oooo-weee-oooo-weee-oooo. _An alarm blared deafeningly, making everyone freeze. "_A dangerous dark wizard is loose in the Ministry_," a voice boomed out. "_Be on the look-out for a man, height approximately six foot seven, pale-complected, long black hair, wearing dirty red robes. This individual is extremely dangerous. If you see him, report his location and let the Aurors take care of him. Do not, I repeat, do NOT attempt to apprehend this person if you are not trained for the job, for the safety of others and yourself._"

Harry leapt up from his desk. It had been a very slow day and he was overjoyed that there was finally some action. Six foot seven, pale, black hair-it could only be Vermiculus the Vicious, a wizard who was legendary for his talent for creating new curses. He was also notorious for his threats against the Minister of Magic; apparently, he had finally decided to try to carry out his threats.

"Well, your first day on the job is going to be memorable," a paper-pusher was saying to someone out of Harry's line of sight. "Welcome to the team. I'm sure you'll be an asset to the Ministry."

Harry veered around the desk jockey and saw who he was talking to. Draco Malfoy's gaze met his, and the blond nodded politely. Malfoy was dressed in the height of current wizard style: trousers, vest, button-up shirt with tall boots and and a loose-fitting coat, all in shades of gray except for his deep violet tie. Harry nodded back, suddenly feeling like a slob in his unironed, wash-worn uniform.

"_Heads up_!" came a shout. A very tall, cadaverous-looking man was tearing down the hallway, wand out. Harry instinctively shoved Malfoy and the clerk against the wall and drew his wand, preparing to throw a stunning spell-and he tripped over his own boot-lace, falling face-first. His wand skidded across the floor. By the time he got up on his knees, Vermiculus was speaking in a guttural language. An eye-hurting red light issued from his wand and Harry knew that he was going to die when it hit him.

The red was shattered by white. Half of it was vaporized. Most of the rest was deflected into a zigzag that hit Harry's left thigh. A stray, dull-glowing spark hit Harry in the face. The agony that gripped him was paralyzing. "I think you saved his life, Malfoy," he heard someone say.

A woman screamed. "His leg!"

Harry's consciousness was fading. "Get him to St. Mungo's, _now_," was the last thing he heard before he fell into the black.

...

"You awake, Harry?"

Harry squinted his eyes open just enough to be able to see Ron's blurry face above him,. "Yeah." His voice was raspy from disuse, and he couldn't seem to move his mouth quite right. "St. Mungo's?"

"You're on the spell damage floor. You need anything?"

"Something for my leg. It's killing me."

Silence.

"You've got to tell him." Hermione's voice.

"_You _tell him."

"Coward." Ron's face disappeared, to be replaced by Hermione's. "Your leg is gone, Harry. Whatever curse Vermiculus used, it just made it... not exist."

"Then why does it still hurt?" Harry asked crossly. He was in the hospital and in pain and his friends wanted to play a stupid trick on him? Harry didn't think much of their sense of timing.

"That's phantom pain. It's very common in... amputees." Hermione's voice broke up on the last word, like she was about to cry. That was taking the joke too far. Ignoring the way his head started spinning, Harry sat up and swing his legs off the side of the bed. "Harry, what are you doing?"

Harry knocked Hermione's hands away. He pushed off the bed and took a step with his left foot and _bam_. The floor hit him. "I-I'm still weak," he said. His glasses were set upon his face. He could see that he was in a hospital ward, separated from the rest of the patients by a screen.

"Look down, Harry," Hermione ordered.

On the right, one whole leg, long and hairy, stuck out from the hem of his hospital gown. On the other side, there was just an odd lump under the fabric. Harry pulled up the gown to find a twisted stump, corrugated with pink scar tissue. "That's not funny," he told his friends.

"Curse damage. It can't be fixed," Ron said.

Completely frustrated with his friends and not feeling very well, Harry put his head in his hands. He jerked back when his left hand touched a hard, fissured surface where his cheek should have been. "What did you do to my face?" he demanded, slapping at Ron when his friend tried to help him up off the floor.

"He's gone mental," Ron exclaimed.

"He's just had a huge shock, Ron. You wouldn't handle it very well, either." Hermione drew her wand and used it to lift Harry and drop him back onto the bed.

"I want to see my face." Harry was feeling very weak and dizzy. "I want to see what you did."

Hermione frowned and chewed her lip. "I don't know if that's a good idea." Harry was struggling to sit up again. "I'll show you if you promise to be good and stay in bed."

"Whatever. Just show me."

Hermione conjured a mirror and held it above Harry. He gaped at what he saw. Most of the left side of his face was a ruin; the reason the left side of his mouth didn't work right was that it was... melted. His vision started going black. The last thing he heard before he slipped back into unconsciousness was Hermione saying what a stroke of luck it was that he had not lost his eye.

...

"I'm sorry about the way I raved yesterday." After drinking a nasty-tasting tonic that a healer had forced on him, Harry was able to sit up without his head spinning.

"It's all right, Harry," Hermione replied. "I've informed the Matron that you're up for visitors. I hope that's fine with you."

Harry looked up at the ceiling. "Sure. They've got to see my face sometime." Curse damage. Glamours wouldn't be able to disguise it. He could wear a half-mask, like the Phantom of the Opera, he supposed.

And so it began. An endless procession of people bearing boxes of chocolate, fruit baskets, and bouquets, all obviously trying not to look at Harry's face. Only Shacklebolt displayed no reaction to it at all. He came with a velvet box holding a medal: a Golden Dragon, one of the highest honors an Auror could get. After pinning it to Harry's hospital gown, he said, "The healers say you can be back to work in two weeks."

Harry's remaining eye-brow drew down. "I don't think I'll be much good with only one leg, unless I use my face to frighten criminals into submission."

Shacklebolt patted Harry on the shoulder. "There are plenty of sit-down jobs. There's an opening in the pattern analysis department. You'll be trained in by the very man that just saved your life. Well, I must go. The trial of Vermiculus the Vicious starts in twenty minutes." The Minister bustled out of the room.

"You poor, unlucky bastard, you," Ron said. "It's not bad enough that you lose a leg, but you have to work with Malfoy, too?"

Harry dug through a canister of mixed nuts that Luna had given him, looking for cashews. "I'm sure he's changed since school."

Hermione smirked. "Yes, he has. He's better looking, and his wit is much more sophisticated."

"But he's still an arrogant git," Ron carped. "And he's been strutting around like a bloody peacock now that he's the man who saved Harry Potter. I'd rather gnaw my own leg off than work with _him_."

"Oh, well, at least you'll have eye-candy to look at," Hermione said, giggling a little.

Harry groaned. "I get tiddly just _once_ and say I think that Malfoy is fanciable, and you never forget it." Of _course_ Ron and Hermione would never forget it; it was the night he had come out to them. It happened a bit awkwardly, but neither of his friends had been a bit surprised; as it turned out, they had both guessed years before.

Harry squinted down into the canister, disappointed that there were only peanuts left."What is pattern analysis, anyway? Something to do with fabric?"

"We keep track of what illegal curses and hexes are being used, and where," replied a silky, drawling voice. Malfoy himself. Harry _really_ hoped that he hadn't heard more of the conversation. The tall blond was casual today in black jeans and a jersey pull-over with a deep vee-neck. His hair was perfectly sleeked back. He had always had a way of making Harry feel like a hopeless wreck. Setting a pot with one delicate white orchid in it on the bed-side table, he asked, "How are you feeling, Potter?"

Feeling oddly reluctant to let the other man see his scars, Harry had the left side of his face to the wall. "I'm hanging in there. What's the point of pattern analysis?"

Malfoy stood by the bed with his hands in his back pockets. "Vermiculus performed a Devouring Curse on you. It's a nasty one that he invented himself. Any other wizards that use it must have learned it from him. Keeping track of a dark wizard's influence gives us an idea of whether or not he thinks he's going to be the next... you know."

Amused by Malfoy's inability to say the name 'Voldemort,' Harry turned he head without thinking. Malfoy stumbled backwards, yanking his hands free of his pockets to help regain his balance. It took a moment for him to return his face to a neutral expression. It was as if the sight of Harry's scars hit him like a physical blow. Harry's mouth twisted into a bitter smile. "Sorry. I guess I should have warned you about how hideous I am now."

Only a slight pinkness in his cheeks revealed Malfoy's discomfort now. "Ah, you just caught me by surprise." He glanced at his wrist, even though he wasn't wearing a watch. "I've got to go. I have-something. See you at work."

Ron snickered as he watched Malfoy scurry through the ward and to the exit. "Brilliant. You nearly made him mess his pants just by looking at him." The look Hermione gave him made it clear that he would get a good shouting at when they got home.

...

Shacklebolt was right. Harry was able to return to work quickly, though he would have to swallow tonics that tasted like stewed boots every day for the rest of his life to counter the lingering influence of the Devouring Curse. An artificial leg was being made for him, one that was supposed to work nearly as good as a real one. In the meantime, he was using a wheelchair from St. Mungo's. It was all brown leather and brass, with odd gears and knobs, and it seemed to have a mind of its own. Harry was a little afraid of it. At the moment, it was refusing to get off the elevator at Harry's floor.

"Move!" Harry kicked the chair. Black smoke blasted out of its rear, filling the elevator and giving Harry a coughing fit.

"Need a little help, Potter?" Malfoy peered into the elevator, looking a little too amused.

"What I need is a junk dealer to sell this blasted thing to!" The chair started to buck.

Malfoy grabbed Harry's arm-rests and pulled. Harry expected the chair to resist, but it went still and let itself be drawn out into the hallway. "Outsmarted by a machine, eh, Potter?"

The chair meekly followed Malfoy to the pattern analysis department. "I've really only just left the hospital. I hope you don't have unrealistic expectations for me," Harry said.

"You don't need to worry about that with me. I've always been aware of your limitations." Before Harry could work out just how insulted he should be by that remark, Malfoy shoved his chair in front of a desk. "It's just us in this department. See this map here?" He pointed to a map of the United Kingdom that took up most of one wall. Hundreds of colored thumb-tacks and pins were stuck into it. "Do not touch it until you are trained in if you want to keep all your remaining limbs." Malfoy crossed his arms and stared hard at Harry. "Repeat after me. 'I will not touch the map until I am properly trained in'."

"I'm not five years old!" Harry said irritably.

"Say it." Malfoy tapped one foot as he waiting.

"Oh, for-I will not touch your bloody map until I am properly trained in. Merlin forbid I should use colored thumb-tacks improperly."

"Good boy."

As his first day back at work went on, Harry wasn't sure which was more aggravating: Malfoy's condescending attitude, or the fact that he looked so _good_ while he was being insulting. He might as well have stepped right out of the pages of _WizardWear_ magazine. He was wearing a _cravat_. Harry was wearing an off-the-rack suit with the empty leg left safety-pinned up. He felt like Malfoy was a Thoroughbred while he was one of those broken-down ponies that got rented out for childrens' parties. It wasn't that he didn't have the money for fashionable clothes; he just didn't have the patience or attitude to make them work. The only time he had ever felt the least bit fashionable was back at the Yule Ball, and that was just because he looked good in comparison with Ron.

Also aggravating was how obvious it was that Malfoy was avoiding the sight of Harry's face. His eyes looked at the ceiling, the wall, the floor, the potted fern, at anything but his office mate. Harry wondered how long it would take to get used to people trying to make him invisible.

After a few hours, Harry stretched, working a kink out of his back. "If you could take a break from talking down to me, it's lunch-time. I'm headed for the cafeteria."

Malfoy stood with his back to Harry, staring at the map. "Go ahead. I'll be going someplace that serves actual food."

Harry ate with Hermione. He sat facing the wall, worried that his face might put others off their feed. As he was headed back to his office, his chair got balky again, just grinding its gears and shuddering as he tried to get it to go around a corner. "I hate you," he told it. It made a farting noise and shut off altogether.

"Really a pity," Harry could hear a voice saying. "Potter used to be good-looking, but his face is just stomach-churning now. He'll have to date the blind. Could you imagine kissing that mouth? Horrible." Malfoy rounded the corner, talking to Blaise Zabini. When he saw Harry and realized that he had been overheard, he turned red and averted his face.

...

TWO MONTHS LATER

Working with Draco Malfoy was awful for Harry, but not for the reasons that Harry's friends expected. It wasn't because Malfoy was still an arrogant git who was convinced of his own superiority, though that was quite true. It wasn't because he was still quick to deliver a put-down, and that getting older had just made his wit more cutting, although that was also true. It wasn't even because of the comment that Harry had overheard; the awkwardness from that had faded in a few days. No, it was for entirely different reasons.

Alex Stockman from the Department of Mysteries was loitering around Malfoy's desk _again_. He was a shade over six feet tall, with amazing cheek-bones and luminous blue-green eyes. And the bastard was flirting with Malfoy. He leaned one perfect buttock against Malfoy's desk and ran his fingers through his hair as he gazed at Malfoy through lowered eye-lashes. Harry snapped the quill he was writing with in half and was barely able to keep himself from growling like a territorial dog.

After Stockman left, Harry said to Malfoy,"The only way Stockman could have been more blatant was if he'd stripped naked and laid across your desk arse-up."

Malfoy frowned a little. "What are you talking about?"

"The way Stockman is constantly throwing himself at you."

"I hadn't noticed." Malfoy's gaze sharpened, and those gray eyes filled with glee. "Are you jealous, Potter? Do you fancy him?"

Oh, yes, Harry was jealous. But it wasn't Alex Stockman that he fancied. It didn't matter that Malfoy treated him like he was simple. It didn't matter that Harry knew that Malfoy found him hideous. Harry was in love. Or perhaps just lust. It was his cheekbones and his cute bottom and the way he dressed and how intelligent he was. And it was the way he didn't treat Harry like he was fragile. Since the Vermiculus incident, everyone else around Harry was _too nice _to him. Harry would never admit it to anyone, but he had come to enjoy Malfoy's insults.He also liked how, no matter how grumpy Harry got-and, these days, he got very, _very _grumpy-Malfoy just took it in stride. Harry did not, however, enjoy watching other men flirting with his office-mate, no matter how oblivious Malfoy was to it.

"I'm off to lunch," Harry said. " Oh, damn. Come on. _Come on_. STUPID-BLOODY-CHAIR."

"I thought you were going to start using your artificial leg." Malfoy put his hands on the back of the wheelchair, which instantly went from growling to purring, and guided it to the door.

"It was a wizard-style prosthetic. It turns out that it won't work properly with such a nasty curse scar. It tends to start kicking people at random. There are places where that could come in handy, by work isn't one of them."

"Why don't you come eat with me instead of going to the cafeteria? You need to get out more. You're awfully pale."

"Pot, kettle, all that." Without Harry telling it to do so, the chair followed Malfoy to the elevators and to the Atrium and the fireplaces, and then Harry found himself at a very swanky wizard restaurant.

"Draco!" A handsome auburn-haired man with a French accent stood up from his table and air-kissed Malfoy on both cheeks, then held onto to his upper arms for what seemed like a very long time to Harry. "You look good today, _mon cher_, but you always look good! Will you sit with me today?" The man acted as if Harry wasn't there.

"Sorry, Henri, this is a working lunch."

"Ah. I see. Another time, perhaps." Henri gave Malfoy a rather grope-y hug.

As they sat at their own table, Harry grumbled, "Henri has more than lunch on his mind."

"Hm? Oh, Henri is just friendly."

Harry squeezed the armrests of his wheelchair as he watched Henri leering at Malfoy while he took off his suit-coat. Friendly? _Ha_. Harry was growling inside again.

...

When it wasn't Alex Stockman making excuses to come to their office, it was Georgie Lionors, a boy of eighteen who ran errands for Shacklebolt. He was slim, and golden of both skin and hair, and as physically flawless as a human could be. The very sight of him made Harry want to puke.

"You have something on your tie, Malfoy," the boy said, leaning in close as he brushed the imaginary lint away. "Oh, do you work out? You've got nice pecs." The pup actually laid a hand on Malfoy's chest. Instead of doing what he really wanted to do, Harry knocked a book on the floor, making George jump.

"Thanks. I use the Ministry gym," Malfoy replied.

"Me, too! We could work out together." Harry pondered whether he should throw his inkwell or a boot at the boy.

"Ah, I like my alone time." Malfoy went back to moving pins around on the map, oblivious to the way Georgie-boy was just standing there staring at him.

"Don't you have someplace to be, Lionors?" Harry barked.

Malfoy laughed when the boy scurried out of the room. "Aw, you scared him away."

"I got tired of him looking at you like you're what's for dinner."

"He was?" Malfoy sounded bored. "If you say so. You can have him if you want. Boys that age, they'll shag anything that moves."

Harry snorted. "Even me?"

"Possibly. You never know. Personally, I don't even see how hideous you are anymore."

Harry laughed. "And I hardly notice what a complete arse you are."

...

The newest Auror at the Ministry was a slab of meat named Sean Reilly. He had thick black hair and azure-blue eyes, and he had his uniforms specially tailored to show off his muscular body. "Do you got the report?" he asked.

"Right here," Harry said, holding out a fat folder, but Sean walked right past him to Malfoy. "I do still exist, right?"

Malfoy didn't even look at Sean. "Get the report from my partner."

"Uh, sure. So, ah, Malfoy, are you, like, going to the Ministry Christmas Ball maybe?"

"My mother is on the planning committee, Reilly, so what do you think?" Sean just looked blank. Malfoy sighed. "That would be a yes."

"Oh. Um. Hey. Are you, like, going with anyone? Or whatever?"

Harry dropped his head onto his desk with a _bonk_. It was painful on so many levels. "You're out of your depth, Reilly." The Auror, of course, ignored Harry.

"You're awfully concerned about my social life, for someone who isn't my friend."

"Um, we could, um, like, become friends. Or something."

"Ah, such eloquence. Such charm. Who wouldn't want you as a friend?"

Harry couldn't take it any more, "He's trying to ask you out, Malfoy."

A line appeared between Malfoy's eyebrows. "Really? Why?" Sean's mind tried to formulate an adequate answer. Harry was sure he could smell the man's synapses burning from over-exertion. "Well, Harry here is single. Why don't you ask him?" Sean just turned red and, snatching the report from Harry's hand, sped from the room.

"Excellent work, Malfoy."

"A date with him? He's a door-stop with ears. I might as well date Goyle."

"He's good-looking, though."

"Looks aren't everything."

"Says the very good-looking man."

Malfoy pulled his jacket on, getting ready to leave for lunch. Harry's chair automatically followed him out of the office. "I think your chair fancies me, Potter. Is it going to ask me on a date? I'm sure it's a better conversationalist than Sean Reilly."

...

It was a Monday morning, and the first thing Harry noticed as his chair rolled jerkily into the office was that Draco had moved his desk so that they would be facing one another. Malfoy was leaning back in his office chair, booted feet on up on his desk as he scanned a roll of parchment. He lowered his work and smiled at Harry. That was when it struck Harry: Malfoy no longer avoided looking at his face. It must have happened gradually for Harry not to have noticed before.

A pink envelope floated into the room, zooming past Harry to land in front of Malfoy. It unfolded itself and a violin-laced tune began to play. "Draco Malfoy, will you to do me the honor of accompanying me to the Christmas Ball?" said Alex Stockman's voice in a very seductive tone. Malfoy flicked the letter with a fingernail, knocking it to the floor.

Harry tried to ignore the part of him that wanted to snarl and chew the invitation to bits. "You're not going to accept the invitation? He's pretty."

"I'm bored with pretty."

"You're going to be buried under pink envelopes."

"I already have someone in mind who is rather special. He'll be worth the wait."

Harry hunched his shoulders, dreading to hear more, but Malfoy just smiled enigmatically and went back to his work. So it _was_ a he. Somehow, Harry had known that it would be. He couldn't say why; it must have been the same sort of intuition that Ron and Hermione had had about Harry. Harry wondered who the lucky bastard was. Gilbert, the flirtatious clerk from Payroll? That Jamaican wizard that delivered files from Archives? Henri? "I need to get some air," Harry said abruptly.

His chair didn't want to leave, and Harry gave it a vicious kick. The stubborn contraption let out a metallic screech and sprayed oil all over the carpet.

"Honestly, Harry, haven't you learned how to deal with that thing yet? You have to be nice to it." Malfoy got up from his desk and knelt beside the chair, patting it. "There, there."

"I don't need your help!" Harry said through gritted teeth.

Malfoy stood up and raised his hands. "Have it your way, grumpy."

Cursing, Harry forced the shaking, jerking, whining chair out into the hall. Watching Malfoy being hit on by men that he ignored was one thing. Listening to him talk about bringing a date to the Christmas Ball was too much to bear.

Harry wasn't even sure how he had ended up at street level. There were Muggles present, so his chair went dormant, forcing him to propel himself forward with his arms. A group of teenaged boys caught sight of his face and shouted insults. Harry reached for his wand, then started laughing. Passersby gave him wide berth as he blocked the sidewalk, howling and pounding on his armrests. Merlin, being madly in love with someone who thought he was hideous? He was nothing short of ridiculous. He laughed until it hurt.

After his hysterical outburst subsided, Harry took a roll around the block the cool down. It was Malfoy's looks that attracted him, at first. It was impossible for anyone with eyes to not notice that he was a beauty. But that had only affected Harry physically. It was more than that now. Malfoy refused to treat Harry like he was special because of his handicap. Harry refused to treat Malfoy like he was special because of the way he looked. Malfoy was a pompous prat, Harry was constantly irritable-and they still liked being around each other. "It's almost like we were made for each other," Harry said to no one but himself. A young mother steered her small children in the opposite direction.

If Harry hadn't been hit by that curse... But then Harry wouldn't be who he was now, and he never would have gotten so close to Malfoy. It was an impossible situation. As he rolled back to the Ministry, Harry made a decision.

...

"You're transferring? Why? I thought we worked well together. You're my favorite partner for verbal sparring. No one else can keep up." Malfoy watched Harry clean out his desk with a frown. "And I hate training people."

"I just think my new position will be more interesting." Harry worked hard at keeping his expression neutral. The fact that half his face didn't move made it easy.

"The filing department? Really? Besides, who's going seduce your chair into behaving? You need me."

Hearing the truth coming from Malfoy's lips, even in jest, hit Harry right in the gut. "Well, you don't need a gargoyle in your office."

Malfoy waved a hand dismissively. "Who cares about your looks?"

Anger spiked through Harry. "You do! Remember? I'll have to date the blind!" he shouted.

Harry was not prepared for the expression on Malfoy's face. "I'm so sorry," he said in a very small voice.

"But you're right." Harry lowered his voice. He felt flattened. "I would have to date the blind. This face is... unlovable."

"But it's not."

"Lies don't make me feel better."

"It's not a lie." Malfoy stood there staring down at Harry for a moment. The intensity in his eyes made Harry's stomach feel funny. It looked like...no. That was impossible.

Malfoy took Harry's box of belongings off of his lap and set them on the floor. He knelt at Harry's left side and put his hands on the armrest of the wheelchair. "Malfoy, what are you..." His eyes opened in shock as Malfoy laid his lips against his cheek. The kiss could barely be felt through the tough scar tissue, but it went through Harry like an electric shock.

Malfoy gently took Harry by the chin and turned his head so they could look each other in the eye. "Will you go to the Christmas Ball with me?"

Being so close to the man he had yearned after for three months was making Harry feel a little sweaty. Those eyes close up... Harry had never realized before that they weren't just flat gray. They actually had small amber flecks in them. And the thick lashes...

Malfoy was starting to grin. "I've never rendered someone speechless before just by kissing them on the cheek."

"But you're supposed to dance at a ball. I can't dance," Harry said, rather stupidly.

"We'll see about that."

THREE WEEKS LATER

Draco was right, of course. Robes looked much better on Harry than trousers, especially the dress robes that Draco had bought for him. They were simple, in a deep maroon that somehow complemented Harry's eyes, and perfectly tailored. "Did you take your tonic?" Draco demanded. "You had a long day with getting trained in on your new job, and the ball will go until three in the morning."

"Yes, Mum, I did." The Ministry had a policy against couples working together, so Harry was now working the Surrendered Magical Creatures desk, taking in unwanted Pygmy Puffs and illegally raised baby dragons. He wondered how often he was going to be seeing Hagrid.

Draco dropped a kiss on the top of Harry's head. "Let's go, then, stumpy."

They emerged out of a fireplace into the Ministry Atrium, which had been turned into a glittering silver and blue winter wonderland for the Christmas Ball. A waltz was being played by an orchestra on a platform that floated over the crowd, and a dance floor twinkled with multi-colored lights. Draco walked to the middle of the dance floor, Harry's wheelchair humming at his side.

Hermione and Ron were there, waltzing very awkwardly. Ron's face lit up when he saw Harry and Draco, obviously thinking he had an excuse to stop dancing. "Can't talk, must dance," Draco said to him. Hermione laughed and continued trying to teach the martyred-looking Ron to stick to the tempo of the music. The floor was filled with so many people that Harry knew, and they were all looking at him. They weren't trying to pretend that he was invisible any more.

"Dance with me." Draco held his hands out. He was astoundingly handsome in his black dress robes. He took Harry's hands in his and began to step one-two-three, one-two-three. The chair smoothly followed. "It's a good thing you're in the chair, really. I saw you dance back in school. I've seen trolls move more gracefully."

"I'm only with you because you make my chair behave."

Draco stopped dancing, leaning down to smirk directly in Harry's face. "Liar," he said, just before their lips met.


End file.
